One thing
that saddens me about this day is that for a short while after 9/11, America
was full of Americans. The world, in fact, seemed full of Americans. We had our
differences before 9/11, of course, and continued on with them afterwards, but
for a short while—perhaps a year or so; maybe just a few months—Americans
seemed united in our collective grief, resolve, anger, but also hope. For a
short season our leaders were leaders, regardless of their party, and for a
short season we followed suit.
The unity didn’t last long, and over the years and then
decades it has decayed to the point that I wonder what it would take to resurrect it. A rogue warhead, for example, could incinerate a city, and within minutes
we’d be pointing fingers not at the terrorists who did it but the political
party that supposedly allowed it—or, even more grotesque and absurd, the party that
financed it as a means to an end.
Those of you over thirty, maybe thirty-five, can probably
remember this very brief season in American history, when we were perhaps not all
on the same page but at least skimming the same book. You can probably also
remember this season fading away—casually at first but then with increasing
toxicity—and now you’re either part of the problem or you’re not.
Those of you who can’t really remember a time when we didn’t identify ourselves by our political allegiance, I’m sorry. It wasn’t always like this. Those who lost their lives twenty years ago deserve better, as do those who still mourn.
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